It was Cold Out
by Sadorkable
Summary: Being a trans man isn't easy, even if you're lucky enough to have a shapeshifting quirk. Sometimes you hit your limits and all the negative emotions come crashing down. He's hit one of those times. However, someone comes along to help remind him that heroes (and especially hero students) aren't alone when it comes to things like this. Tw: depression, dysphoria, suicidal thoughts


It was cold out.

It wasn't necessarily the type of cold that made you regret leaving your jacket at home, but the kind that stabbed deep into your very core with each icy wind. It was below freezing. Still, he made no effort to move from the snowy park bench on which he lay. He focused intently on twirling the yarn around the needles, making each loop just right, each line exactly the same. The clink of metal on metal reverberated through his mind as he focused his entire being into his actions, completely oblivious of his surroundin—

"Hey hey, listener! Whoa, aren't you cold?"

He sat up to make room on the bench before the man could even ask, absentmindedly noticing how his body heat had melted the snow underneath him and soaked his thin jacket through. _Was he cold?_ a part of him wondered absentmindedly, partially shaking him out of his trancelike state.

 _No stop it don't think don't think thoughts are bad thoughts are bad-_

"You're making a scarf! That's really cool!" The older man remarked, sitting next to him. _No not just any person, a teacher, his teacher, Present Mic._ "It looks really good so far! Hey, hey, that color looks familiar, too."

A faint blush tinged his cheeks. Of course he'd notice. "Y-yeah," he mumbled, ducking his head to hide his face in the scarf he currently wore. Speaking aloud sounded foreign after sitting in silence for so long. "It's based off of Aizawa-sensei's scarf. I really admire him and his strength, so I thought if I had something like this when..." He trailed off, trying to focus his attention back to his knitting. The slight breeze against his wet back had him curling into himself against the freezing cold. The metal of his needles burned against his trembling fingers, making the loops awkward and misshapen. His heart beat faster as he tried to focus himself back in, a lump growing in his throat along with his rising panic as he tried to do anything except think about—

 _No don't think don't think don't think don't think don't think_

"...Hey, are you okay?"

He breathed in sharply, sucking in the harsh, bitterly cold air as if he was emerging from underwater. His self-imposed trance had been broken, snapped like a cheap rubber band. His mental clarity violently returned—with all the heavy emotions it carried. His fingers stilled mid-stitch, abandoning the work as he stared blankly at the shimmering white snow on the ground in front of him. Desperately he tried to keep the tears in and calm his ragged breaths, trying to shove the emotions back down deep where he couldn't feel them.

"What's wrong?"

Startled by the sudden warmth of Mic's hand over his own, he looked up into his teacher's vibrantly green eyes. Unable to keep them in any longer, he bowed his head forward as the sobs tore through his chest. A pair of strong, warm arms encircled him and pulled him close, rubbing small, comforting circles on his back.

"It's okay, it's okay… Don't hold it in, they say that's bad for you, y'know!…" Mic mused, rocking him back and forth soothingly.

Though only a few minutes had passed, it could have been hours and he wouldn't have known the difference. He pulled back, raking a trembling hand through his hair as he released a shaky breath. "S-sorry… I guess I just… Y-you know about me, right?" Glancing up just long enough to see Mic's nod of confirmation, he stared at his lap and continued onward.

"I guess I always thought that once I moved away I could start being myself. I thought that once I was independent from my parents I'd have the strength to come out to them. B-but moving into the dorms hasn't changed anything. Every time I see them I'm still playing a part. Every time I hear them say how much they love their "daughter," or how proud they are that such a strong young "woman" is attending UA I just c-can't help b-but feel like I've been slapped in the face and it _hurts_ but if they r-reject me I don't have anywhere to go and I—" he broke off with a shuddering breath, tears collecting in his eyes once more.

"...I don't want to have to deal with it anymore. I couldn't ever do anything but sometimes the feelings hit me when I look out my window and realize how high up I am and how easy it'd be to let myself fall. Or every day when I can't hold my quirk any longer and my body turns back and I want to just take a knife and cut everything off and I _wish…_ " he paused, looking up at the tall, barren trees. "...I wish I could've just been born right." he whispered.

They sat in silence for a moment before Mic spoke up, sounding a bit unsure. "Well, I don't know exactly what to say, but I think I know someone who does. Want to come back to my place? It's closer than the dorms, anyway, and you need to get warm."

He nodded, feeling a bit shy now that the majority of his emotional rush was over. He folded up the scarf around his yarn and tucked it into his jacket pocket, standing up and letting Mic lead the way.

The walk back was a short one. He listened as Mic filled the air with light chatter about his day, swinging his hands animatedly and occasionally coming close to spilling the contents of his grocery bag. Before he knew it they were standing in front of a small apartment door that Mic was vigorously knocking on. Before he could register the fact that his teacher lived with someone else, the door opened, revealing Aizawa on the other side.

"SHOUTAAAAA!" Mic yelled, reaching his arms out for a hug. "I'm back from the grocery store! And look who I found on the way back!"

He tuned his teacher out as he continued talking, blushing a deep red under Aizawa's gaze as he realized how he must look. Soaked and shivering from the cold with puffy eyes, a runny nose, and tear-stained cheeks, he was thoroughly embarrassed.

"Hizashi." Aizawa cut Mic off in his ramblings. "Come in. You're letting all the heat out."

"Ah, right!" Mic entered and he followed, trying to not be too obviously curious about his teachers' house.

"Hey kid." He barely managed to catch the thick blanket Aizawa threw at him, stumbling back a step before righting himself. "Sit down and take off your wet jacket before you catch a cold, if you haven't already."

Mic looked over at him with a bright smile. "I'll go make some hot chocolate to help us both warm up faster! Shoutaa, show me where you put the mugs!" Grabbing Aizawa by the arm, he tugged him into the next room.

Carefully reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the half-finished scarf and set it onto the couch. It hadn't gotten wet, luckily enough. Shucking off his jacket, he folded it so the wet parts were covered and set it on the ground next to him. He fought off an involuntary shiver while wrapping himself in the blanket and tried to make his presence as small as possible by squeezing himself into the corner of the couch. It felt odd, casually sitting in his teachers' house. Picking up his knitting, he scrunched down and tried to politely block out the sounds of conversation coming from the other room.

It wasn't long until Mic re-entered the room carrying two mugs of hot cocoa. Setting the second one on the coffee table in front of the couch, he sat in the armchair across from him, cradling his mug in his hands for warmth. A moment later, Aizawa unceremoniously flopped down on the couch next to him.

"So you're having problems with your parents, kid?"

Mic coughed into his cocoa. "So direct, Shouta," he muttered. Aizawa raised an eyebrow at Mic before turning back to him with a look that said he expected an answer.

"Well, not exactly _with_ them," he began softly, picking up his cocoa and staring at its foamy swirls. "I wanna be myself but I'm scared of what'll happen if they don't accept me. They're pretty traditional as well so I don't see acceptance coming anytime soon. I just… I can't support myself and don't have a backup plan if things go wrong and it's getting to me, I guess."

Aizawa sighed and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, kid, I'll be the first to tell you this kind of stuff isn't easy, but I'll also be the first to tell you that it's worth it in the end. Even if your blood relatives don't accept you, there's more than them when it comes to family. And if they have problems with you, they can take it up with me."

Tears—good tears this time—welled up in his eyes. "Why, though? Why do that...just for me?"

"Well," Aizawa paused, lifting up his shirt to reveal two faded scars running across his chest. "I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't."

He instinctively brought his hand up to hide his face as a wave of emotions overtook him, tears running down his cheeks.

"Whoa whoa whoa, you ok?" Mic asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"Y-yeah, I—" he began, voice full of emotion. "I just... To know that there's a hero—a successful hero—like me who's also someone I really look up to and the hero is _you_ and you said that if my family has problems with me that you'll… and I just…" he trailed off, not having words to express the depth of his feelings.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looked up into Mic's face. His brilliant smile showed a softness he'd never seen before on his teacher's face. He relaxed under the man's gentle touch, releasing tension he hadn't been aware of.

"Well, what do you think heroes are for?" Mic said, speaking softly and easily. Smiling in happiness and the beginnings of contentment, he leaned into his teacher's touch. A few quiet moments passed before Mic spoke up once more.

"Say, Shouta, take a look at this cool scarf he's making!" Mic spoke excitedly, holding up one end so Aizawa could see it better. Aizawa stared at the scarf for a moment before glancing down at the one currently wrapped around his own neck.

Moaning softly, he set his cocoa down and buried his face in his hands, flushing with embarrassment. At the same time, there was the beginnings of a real smile on his face and a warm feeling in his stomach. Perhaps this was turning out to be a good day, after all.


End file.
